


False Punishment

by Cantatrice18



Category: Matilda (1996), Matilda - Roald Dahl
Genre: Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Sacrifice, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Items go missing from Ms. Trunchbull's office, and the headmistress is out for blood. But Miss Honey won't let any child face the wrath of the Trunchbull alone, not if she can help it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	False Punishment

It was during Miss Honey’s first year of teaching, long before Matilda ever came to Crunchem Hall, that it happened. She was instructing her bright-eyed group of five-year-olds in their times tables when Agatha Trunchbull burst in on the class. The doors were nearly blown off their hinges by the mere force of her entrance, and as she slowly walked to the center of the room the rage radiating from her was palpable. She carried her riding crop and paced slowly in front of the students, eyes blazing. “This is a surprise inspection, you little twits. Do you know why?”

The children shook their heads in frightened bewilderment. Ms. Trunchbull smiled, a mirthless smile full of malice. “Well, I’ll tell you. Today I came into my office to discover several things missing from my desk. Scissors, tape, a paperweight. No doubt you thought your thieving wouldn’t be noticed, but I notice everything. Nothing escapes my eye.” She whirled and pointed the riding crop at a mousy haired boy in the far corner. “You, boy – empty your desk!”

Trembling, the boy lifted the lid of his desk and began to lift out the things inside of it. A workbook, pens, a ruler. He was not fast enough for the Trunchbull’s liking, however, and she strode over to the desk before slamming open the lid so hard that the hinges strained against the nails holding them in place. Her face twisted in frustrated anger as she saw no sign of the missing items. She moved to the next desk, that of a blonde girl with her hair in a braid. “What about you, eh? You look like a nasty piece of work. Thought you’d come thieving in my office?”

“N-no, Ms. Trunchbull, honest I didn’t.” 

The Trunchbull sneered and threw open the desk, rummaging through the items with the end of her riding crop. Still there was no sign of the incriminating objects. She moved on.

Her next victim was the smallest boy in the class. His name was Tommy Tewkes, and he was so slender that when he held very still he seemed to disappear into the background. His wide brown eyes were staring up at the Trunchbull in horror as she bore down on him, and when she slammed her riding crop down onto his desk he jumped a foot in the air. Her eyes blazed as she looked down her nose at him. “Go on, worm, open it.” 

Tommy’s hands were shaking so hard he could barely lift the lid. When he finally managed it his desk showed no signs of Ms. Trunchbull’s prizes, and she was about to move on when she caught sight of a small packet in the corner. “What’s this, then?” she asked, her hand darting out and grabbing the packet. Opening her meaty fist, she examined the little bag. In it was a tiny model airplane. It had obviously taken some time to craft, and was painted a cheerful shade of red. The Trunchbull raised a hairy eyebrow. “Toys, in a classroom?”

“M-my daddy made it for me. He m-made it for m-my birthday.”

“Oh, daddy made it, did he?” said the Trunchbull in a mocking, sickly sweet voice. “Well, he should have told you never to bring toys to school. You can keep it, though.” She smirked. “We wouldn’t want your daddy to think you’d lost it, now would we?”

Tommy stared up at her, his lips slightly parted and his eyes hopeful. Was he going to be able to keep the little plane after all? The entire class watched with rapt attention. Trunchbull reached out to put the little plane back in the desk, but just as she was about to do so the whole class heard a sickening crunch. When the Trunchbull opened her hand she revealed the splintered remains of the little plane, the red paint still glimmering sadly on the bits and twigs of wood. “My goodness. What a pity. Daddy should have made it a bit stronger, shouldn’t he?”

Tommy’s eyes filled with tears as the Trunchbull dropped the mangled little plane back into his desk. He let out a tiny, choked sob, and Miss Honey could take no more. “Ms. Trunchbull, I’m the one who took your things.” She took a deep breath as the whole class stared at her. “I needed them for one of the art projects the children will be starting this afternoon.”

The Trunchbull’s eyes blazed in triumph. “I was wondering how long it would take you to confess. You always were a spineless little thing. Now, of course, I’ll have to make you pay for what you’ve done.” She crooked a finger towards Miss Honey, her expression gleeful. “Come, Jenny.”

Every nerve in Miss Honey’s body was tingling, telling her to run, or hide, or at the very least to fight back, but she did none of those things. The sight of the little pupils surrounding her kept her from avoiding the punishment Trunchbull was going to mete out. If not for her, then some poor child would be forced to endure the pain and humiliation. Her duty was to protect the children as much as she possibly could. And so, as the stunned group of five-year-olds watched, she walked calmly to stand in front of Ms. Trunchbull. The moment she was within arm’s reach the Trunchbull’s fingers fastened tightly around her wrists and yanked her into a headlock. She struggled to breathe as the headmistress lifted her with ease and slammed her onto the desk. She heard the woman’s soft, malicious laughter behind her as a hand pressed down on her lower back, forcing it to arch. “Well, Jenny – isn’t this just like old times.”

Miss Honey said nothing, unable to speak. Fear coursed through her, mixed with a horrible dose of shame as she felt her students’ eyes upon her. She knew what would come next, and she closed her eyes tightly as the Trunchbull raised a muscled arm high in the air. The headmistress brought it down so fast that the air whistled, her hand hitting Miss Honey so hard the young woman’s entire body shook from the force of it. Again Ms. Trunchbull raised her arm, and again she brought it down. Nine times she struck until finally she heard what she was waiting for. As she raised her arm to deliver the tenth blow a soft moan escaped Miss Honey’s lips. The headmistress’ gloating laugh rang through the room as she shoved Miss Honey cruelly off the desk. The woman hit the floor in a swirl of papers and lay unmoving as the Trunchbull turned to the class. “That’ll teach all of you a lesson now, won’t it? If you don’t want that happening to you, you’ll keep your snotty little noses out of my office!” Her smile was truly evil as she gazed around at the terrified children. “Enjoy your arithmetic lesson; you’d better work your tiny brains harder than ever, because I’ll be back to check on you and make sure Miss Honey is actually doing her job instead of playing games and teaching you foolish nursery rhymes. If you fail my inspection, you know what will happen to you.” With that ominous warning the Trunchbull stalked from the room, letting the heavy wooden door slam behind her.

There was complete silence in the classroom. Miss Honey lay curled on the floor, wishing more than anything that she could disappear. The punishment was not what truly caused her pain – she had received much worse in her time living with her Aunt Trunchbull. But the eyes of her little students staring at her, watching her degradation, hurt far more than any physical pain the Trunchbull could dish out. She had hoped to be a mentor to the children, a guiding hand that would help shape their futures. Now there was no way they’d respect her. News of her humiliation would spread like wildfire throughout the school, and soon everyone would see her as nothing more than the Trunchbull’s punching bag. So lost was she in her dark thoughts that she did not hear the approach of tiny feet until a soft hand reached out to touch her shoulder. She jumped and the hand disappeared. Opening her eyes, she turned her head and looked up to find Tommy Tewkes standing beside her. His eyes were filled with tears, and she felt a sudden pang of apprehension. “Tommy, what’s the matter? Did she hurt you?”

Tommy shook his head and knelt next to her, resting a hand on her shoulder once more. “I’m f-fine, but…” his eyes roved over her battered body and she felt a new surge of shame. “I’ll be alright, Tommy,” she whispered. Several other children had come over to join Tommy, and they formed a circle around her. Grimacing, she pushed herself upright until she knelt. She was unable to meet their eyes, scared of the derision and pity she would find there. Silence filled the room until all of a sudden a little girl pushed her way into the circle and threw herself onto Miss Honey, hugging her tightly. The woman winced, but rubbed the girl’s back comfortingly. “There now. It’s all right, Mary. She’s gone.”

The little girl shook her head, and Miss Honey was shocked to hear her begin to cry, her sobs muffled by the fabric of the teacher’s blouse. “Mary, what’s wrong?” She gazed around at the other children fearfully – had she missed something? Had the Trunchbull hurt them while she was lying helpless on the floor? “Tell me, please?”

Mary clutched harder at Miss Honey, her face streaked with tears as she looked up into her teacher’s eyes. “I did it,” she whispered.

“Did what?” Miss Honey asked, smoothing the girl’s long brown hair.

Mary was trembling, the very picture of misery. “I took them - the things off Ms. Trunchbull’s desk. They’re in my lunchbag.”

Miss Honey’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, I see.”

“I’m sorry,” the little girl sobbed, “I’m so sorry, Miss Honey! I didn’t think she’d…I didn’t know you’d be…”

The other children were whispering to one another, drawing closer in. Miss Honey hugged Mary tightly. “I forgive you, Mary. Just don’t do it again – Ms. Trunchbull isn’t one to be crossed.”

“Why’d you do it?” asked a boy with sandy blond hair. He was looking, not at Mary, but at Miss Honey. “Why’d you let her hurt you, when you wasn’t even the one who did anything wrong?”

“’Weren’t’, Matthew, not ‘wasn’t’”. And as to why…” Miss Honey thought for a moment, knowing her answer was very important. “I suppose it’s because I’m your teacher. It’s my job to instruct you on your times tables, but it’s also my job to protect you from harm. If there’s any way I can keep you from being hurt, then I’ll do it.”

Matthew nodded sagely, then knelt and hugged her as well. The other children joined in until they were huddled around Miss Honey protectively, their presence providing comfort. She felt tears coming to her eyes, but this time they were tears of joy and gratitude. Her students loved her, even after everything they’d seen. She was not a pitiable victim in their eyes, but a hero. “Thank you, children. Now, it’s almost lunchtime. After you’ve eaten, we’ll continue with our times tables where we left off. With luck we’ll avoid Ms. Trunchbull’s wrath altogether.”

The students slowly drifted away until Miss Honey sat alone on the floor. She slowly stood, ignoring the pain, and watched her pupils file out of the room. This was why she had become a teacher – the innocence and love these children displayed was a miracle worth protecting, even with her life. They would grow up well, loving learning, and caring for each other; she would see to it.


End file.
